


Unexpected Reprieve

by Fishfootidentity



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: M/M, Out of Character behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-09
Updated: 2014-08-09
Packaged: 2018-02-12 11:40:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2108499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fishfootidentity/pseuds/Fishfootidentity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While the rest of the northern troops make camp, Roose Bolton takes Robb Stark to a place not known to many others: a waterfall with a hidden alcove, a pleasant temporary getaway from the world they live in.</p>
<p>Probably set in canon, though its point in the timeline is not specific.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unexpected Reprieve

**Author's Note:**

> My thirst for Roose/Robb is absurd but real. So here's an unplanned drabble prompted by the waterfall noise generator from MyNoise.Net (which I recommend readers to visit and listen to while reading this fic).

“Your Grace,” Roose Bolton had told him, “there is something I think you need to see.”

Naturally, Robb thought it had to do with oncoming Lannister forces. But then Roose dismounted and motioned Robb to do the same, leading him down a narrow vale crowded with shrubbery.

They went a twisted way past thick trees and muddy rocks, and then he saw it: a waterfall, not too high but enough to form some foam in the pool that flows down the lower stream.

Robb felt a pang of irritation. “Is this all you wanted to show me?” he asked.

“I was hoping it wasn’t.”

The older lord gestured with one gloved hand.

“Come.”

Robb followed, his curiosity nevertheless piqued. Wet soil gave way to mossy rocks.

Roose carefully climbed one outcrop and, after steadying himself, held out a hand for Rob to hold.

The Young Wolf took it, but put his own effort into climbing the rock as well. He stood up to look around, but Roose is already making his way atop the rocks in the direction of the waterfall.

Robb tried to find his balance, and as tempting as it is to jump across the rocks, a slip could become a fatal fall.

After scrambling up the final few feet, Roose pulled him into what seemed to be an alcove behind the wall of flowing water.

The current was so deafening, the lord of House Bolton had to place his mouth next to Robb’s ear in order to be heard.

“Amazing, isn’t it?” he asked.

Robb spent a moment taking it in. It wasn’t much of a tactical advantage to his army, but it could prove to be an excellent water source. As for himself, it did not hurt to appreciate the green-blue shade of the constant rushing water, or the oddly comfortable darkness and humidity of the tiny cave.

“I think it’s beautiful,” Robb remarked.

Sheltered in the alcove, the cold of the northern wind does not bite so hard. Yet Robb is highly aware of the warmth standing right next to him, the warmth that said in a soft voice: “You know, we could spend a few hours or more here. Let the harsh world outside wait and forget us for a little while.”

If it had been any other lord, Robb would have denied his suggestion and gotten them both back to camp. But this was Roose Bolton, a fellow northman who had been particularly close to him throughout his campaigns.

“We can stay, but for no longer than an hour,” Robb told him.

 

Roose sat down took off his cape, gloves and doublet. Robb lowered himself to the floor a small distance away on his right, sitting cross-legged and facing the waterfall. When he next looked at Roose, the man is lying down on his back, though his knees are bent and the soles of his boots are planted on the mossy rock surface. Pillowing his head are pale hands, which are in turn pillowed by the gloves he took off.

Looking ahead at the falling stream again, Robb took a deep breath and sighed. It seemed to him that he could never relax – not truly, anyway. Despite the futility of it all, he had often wished things would go back to the way they were, when he and Jon and Theon hunt and fight together, when Sansa is happy and Arya and Bran sneak around the castle making the servants smile or roll their eyes, when Rickon is still learning his words and begging to play alongside his elder siblings.

_I have an army to lead_ , he thought to himself, _but for now, this is nice_.

“You still look tense, Your Grace,” Roose said from his left.

When Robb turned his head, he almost flinched and scooted backward at the sight of his bannerman completely naked above the waist.

He composed himself, remembering that this lack of modesty is something Lord Bolton is used to, as evidenced by the bite marks of leeches on his body.

“It’s hard for me not to be,” Robb answered him, almost hurriedly looking away.

He flexed his fingers. His palms are already sweating, so then he thought Roose might have the right idea after all.

 

Robb peeled off one glove. As he was about to do the same to the other, Roose is already there, removing the glove from his left hand. Confused, Robb blinked and looked in the quiet man’s eyes for answers. But Roose is already starting work undressing Robb’s many layers of clothing. Robb watched the short but deft fingers pull at strings and unfasten clasps, all the while feeling hot breath on his face and neck.

Once he is finally stripped of his jerkin, Roose leaned in and kissed him on the lips.

Robb closed his eyes; with the sound of constantly-flowing water in his ears, cool moisture all around him and warmth just inches away – some of it in direct contact with him – maybe it is possible for him to do as Roose suggested and just forget the outside world.

Soon lips parted and a tongue poked through, teasingly running across Robb’s lips and asking to enter. Robb yielded to the tongue and opened up, tilting his head to allow their lips and tongues better movement.

Hands slid up his bare back, one stopping at the base of his neck and the other buried in his thick curly hair. Robb raised his own hands and placed them on Roose’s soft, clammy shoulders. The older man’s kisses grew hungrier and harder, and the hand in Robb’s hair began gripping his locks tightly.

Robb gasped; Roose moved his lips to the young king’s chin, then neck, then throat. Robb tried to get his hands into a comfortable position over Roose’s shoulders, but the man pulled back from his kisses and gently heaved his body weight onto Robb, tackling him into the floor as lightly as he could.

Robb’s breaths came harder as Roose’s hands pinned him down, mouth meeting mouth again. He almost shivered when the pale, quiet lord whispered two slow but firm words in his ear: _“Stay down.”_

 

He listened. He obeyed. For that, his partner in the moment rewarded him with kisses: the first one was in the mouth. Then, slowly, his lips trailed down his neck, and then chest.

A vocal sigh escaped Robb’s throat as Roose’s fingers also trailed down, rubbing circles in his wrists, forearms and underarms, moving to the nipples while the lips inch closer to his bellybutton.

The warmth departed from the surface of Robb’s skin where they were earlier. Robb opened his eyes again and saw that Roose had sat up and moved his hands down Robb’s abdomen. He nearly cried out when Roose kneaded circles on his inner thigh.

Involuntarily Robb began parting his legs, but then he heard the sound of barking, at which point he abruptly drew his knees to his chest and rolled over to one side.

His eyes widened and searched around wildly. Easily enough, the source of the sound was the opening of the alcove through which he and Roose came.

“Grey Wind! How did you find us here?” Robb asked, scrambling to his feet to close the distance to his direwolf. He paid attention to the bits of dried blood clumped around the lower sides of Grey Wind’s jaw; the wolf ate well enough in his master’s absence.

Robb dared himself to look back at Roose. However, instead of humiliation at being found, he saw that Roose had taken the interruption surprisingly well. The Lord of the Dreadfort has already begun donning on his clothes once more, and in no chaste hurry.

He smiled briefly when he glanced up at Robb.

“It seems we won’t be spending as much as an hour here after all,” Roose remarked.

“Indeed we won’t,” Robb agreed, and took quick steps toward his pile of clothing.

Grey Wind trotted behind him and then waited while he replaced his garb in a rush.

With Roose faced away from him, Robb bent down and whispered in his direwolf’s ear: “Please don’t tell anyone.”


End file.
